ted Brady, who proved enthusiastic about having children in
the house once she assured him they'd be kept very strictly out of her
profession, written the invitation, and was starting to work her way
through the stack of mail when Powell looked in the open door. "Need
some help? I'm pretty good at that sort of thing."

Cortin looked up at him gratefully. "I sincerely hope so, because this
is the one part of my job I really don't like. Pull up a chair and see
what you can do."

Powell did so, taking a stack of mail, opening and going through it
with considerable assurance and more speed than Cortin herself was
managing. After a few minutes, she discovered she was doing more
watching than working--and being impressed. When he finished with the
stack, she took it and scrutinized his work.

That was even more impressive than watching him, because he had dealt
with every piece exactly as she would have. Impressive, and a little
frightening--but she wasn't about to question a gift from God. "What
do you do during the day, Chuck?"

Powell flushed. "Not much, I'm afraid. Read, mostly, between Mass and
supper--and entertain myself, of course. It's fun, but I'd like to do
something more . . . productive."

"Productive as in?"

"This sort of thing. I'm pretty good at it, I think, and you don't
like it--maybe I could be your secretary, or aide, or whatever you'd
want to call it?"

Cortin chuckled. "'Great minds' . . . You're more than pretty good,
you're incredible--almost as if you were reading my mind. The job's
all yours, with my thanks."

Powell flushed again. "It's easy--when we were so close to being one
person, you wanted me--maybe all of us--to know you as well as we
could. I can sort of put myself in your place, at least enough to
handle routine things the way you would. And I enjoy doing it."

"As I said, it's all yours." Cortin handed him the invitation to
Blackfeather. "I thought I ought to write this myself, and I'm never
sure when I'll have time free, but I don't want it going out until we
can be sure she'll get it after the Bains arrive. Can you handle that?"

"No problem." Powell took the paper. "They'll be arriving a week from
Saturday, right?"

"That's what I understand, yes."

"Mail it a week from today, then." Powell clipped a note to the
invitation and put it in the middle basket of her stack. "Okay,
anything else?"

Cortin glanced at the clock and winced. "I have to ca